Little Jezebel
by tildemarco
Summary: One of our Runaways stumbles upon a tiny, hole in the wall piano shop and makes leaps and bounds on the endless journey to finding herself.


When you stick it to the man as thoroughly as we did, there are some luxuries you will inevitably have to give up. But, after years of alternately hiding and fighting, when placed in a room with that one thing you wish you could go back to every night before you fall asleep, you just don't say no.

Thus, when passing a small shop with a wide open door and a flawless baby grand in the window, I just couldn't resist stopping in.

An elderly man waddled over, a kindly smile wrinkling his every feature. He leaned in slightly to whisper in my ear,

"Do you want to play a while?" His thick voice had a minute Irish lilt to it, and I couldn't help but smile at the man. "I've not heard Little Jezebel ring out for quite some time now, and I could use a bit of music at the moment."

I could barely contain my excitement. This was what I'd been dreaming of ever since we first flew the coup. A chance to just sit and… and _be_.

I immediately took him up on the offer, ascending the three little steps to the platform the pianoforte rested ever so delicately upon. I slid silently onto the bench, adjusting it to suit my abnormally long legs, and simply stared at the keyboard for a moment.

So pristine. The ivory looked practically untouched.

Subconsciously, I wiped my hands off on my jeans so as to not dirty the instrument, and lifted my hands gently to the keys. I didn't even know what I was playing at first, but it seemed to develop into Canon in D Minor, and then morphed into what sounded like Mozart's twelfth symphony.

I must have sat there for hours, running through my overflowing repertoire of both classical and more modern pieces. I played Beethoven's eighth piano sonata, and Billy Joel's "Piano Man", Italian folk songs, and the Austrian national anthem, which inspired a _Sound of Music _romp down memory lane.

My fingers flew across the keys with "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds," a little tribute to our currently MIA extraterrestrial. I relished the way "Red and Black" from Les Miserables still sounded like flames eternally eating at my soul. I lived when "Moonlight Sonata" spilled from my dancing fingers, and I almost wept as I finished my affair with the ivory keys with a thought to Victor as the notes of "La Llorona" whispered their final words within the case.

The strings stilled themselves at last and I sat in the resulting silence for a moment, enjoying my brief solace. But I knew I must return to the Hostel and back to real life, now, there could be no more stalling. I'd taken too much time as it was, and he was probably starting to worry now, if he hadn't been worrying already.

Reluctantly, I withdrew myself from my haven, barely recognizing the audience I'd gathered. The wrinkled shop owner waddled back to me as I made my way slowly to the door, still not entirely convinced I could leave. My heart fluttered with some strange emotion that was as melancholy as it was addicting, and that wasn't really something I was willing to give up. The wrinkled shop owner interrupted my inner struggle momentarily as he waddled over to gratify me with pearls of unceasing wisdom, no doubt.

"Feel free to return anytime, miss. Little Jezebel is always open to play, especially for _you, _young lady. You've quite a talent."

I acknowledged the praise with a slight tilt of the head and attempted to smile as I forced myself through the door, a small bell that I hadn't noticed before tinkling delicately with my exit.

Before my mind even registered I'd begun walking, I was back at the Hostel, and entering our "living room," only to find the one person I'd been dreading to see.

Victor was pacing agitatedly back and forth, his eyebrows furrowed, his head bowed. He had made several laps from the kitchen counter to the couch before even noticing I'd entered the room.

Hedging my inclination to simply slip away and deal with him in the morning, I planted myself firmly where I stood and braced myself for the verbal thrashing I was fairly sure I would receive.

When he finally _did_ look up, he did not, in fact, immediately begin berating me. Instead, his face filled with the most profound relief that I was mildly stunned, and he launched himself at me.

For a split second I thought he was going to hit me, but his arms wrapped around my waist and yanked me to him, without the slightest hesitation. He buried his face in my hair and rocked me back and forth, as if I were a small child he was lulling to sleep.

"Ah mi Dios, Nico… Where did you go?"

I smiled slightly into his shoulder and tightened my arms around him. "… I found _home, _Victor. I found home."


End file.
